


Prodigal Sons

by dieselfuels



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Gorey metaphors, Graphic Drug Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Shadow Moses Island, Zanzibar Land, implied/referenced PTSD, lots of VERY WEIRD implications, mid-90's NYC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:04:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8921746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dieselfuels/pseuds/dieselfuels
Summary: When you love somebody, when you offer somebody a part of you, you hope to get a part of them back. Skin for skin, heart for heart. Love, idealistically, is an equal trade. Realistically, however, it’s mostly just yanking your insides out and pleading for another to take them.--1/12/2017 - Posted chapter 9. IT'S FINISHED. THANK GOD. Tags are updated for better accuracy.Covers a series of events leading up to MGS1. Lots of Snake Clone grooming, one-sided bosselot and baby FOXHOUND. This is a sister fic to my other work "Boar's Head", which I recommended reading before you read this: archiveofourown.org/works/4977196





	1. Chapter 1

**Matthew 23:33**

_ "You serpents, you brood of vipers, how will you escape the sentence of hell?” _

He looked like his boy alright, about ten years older than he really was, but his regardless. Ocelot shook hands with him firmly, “So you’re a Snake now, I take it.”

“I suppose so.”

The year is 1992 and Big Boss was well under way building his true Outer Heaven. Ocelot had gone back to playing nice with Cipher, The Patriots, to keep heat off both him and his Boss. So naturally, he was wrangled into playing babysitter for another one of the clones in the process. Solidus. Ocelot had offered to take the kid to see The Legendary Soldier after it was revealed he was going to be groomed to become president. Big Boss wasn’t happy with the suggestion but, anything to stay low. Shouting to the world that there was another Mother Base, so to speak, wouldn't be wise at this time.

The two climbed into the back of a four wheeler and headed the long treck into the South African jungle. As the engine revved to a start Solidus began to fidget with his fatigues, fingertips damp with a hot, nervous sweat, “So, you know him?”

Ocelot made a small gesture with his hands, “very much so. He goes and I follow.”

The clone looked up, “What’s he like?”

“Stern, but fair.”

He squirmed in his seat more, numb with the anticipation of meeting his father, his idol, after all these years. “Will he hate me?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if he thinks I’m a terrible soldier. I-”

Ocelot raised his hands, “Once instance at a time.”

Solidus was about twenty now. Restless, cagey and nervous; eyes that would glaze over at the sound of gunfire or yelling. It was obvious that he wasn’t always there, probably lost in thought about Libria or however he was reared. Ocelot wasn’t sure how a person this wild-eyed and vibrating with anxiety could command his own unit. Maybe children  _ are _ easier to rally and will listen to who’s ever the biggest… Who knows.

The four-wheeler slowly came to a halt as the bright, midday sun screamed down on a muddy compound in the middle of nowhere. Both of them got out of the car, Solidus shyly following the tight trail behind their escorts.

Ocelot turned to him, the two walking at a brisk pace down a dirt path, “I’m sure you’re familiar with Africa by now.”

“Just bits of the cost in Liberia. I’m guessing this location was picked because of how high of a conflict zone it is?”

“Of course.”

Solidus balled his hands to keep them from shaking and stopped with Ocelot at a hill that sloped down into a makeshift shooting range, the sound of a sniper rifle being blasted every so often at a metal target pinned to a tree. One of the soldiers climbed down the shallow valley and came back with a graying Big Boss. The last few years had not been kind to the man. All that beauty sleep in the late 70’s was moot now.

Ocelot swallowed heavily, trying to hide a smile as him and his Boss met each other at the edge of the hill while Solidus awkwardly hung back a few feet. The two chuckled over something softly and turned back to the clone, their grins fading.

Boss nodded to Solidus slowly, his gaze unwavering and ice cold as he approached the man casually, raising his voice over the gunfire, “Ocelot tells me you were in Liberia recently?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You probably ran into my men. Our paths crossed before and we didn’t even know it.”

Solidus cracked a small, shaky smile, “It’s a small world.”

Boss let out a dismissive sound and the three headed into a nearby concrete building. The merc offered his two guests a seat at a bent, metal table with a bum leg. Both Solidus and Ocelot sat down quietly, watching their host turn on an electric kettle, offering a cup of instant coffee to the both of them. Solidus caught a whiff of the powder and squeezed his eyes shut, remembering how he could never make it to his taste but a few of the kids could.  He could remember the hot, humid nights too vividly, hopped up on adrenaline and anxiety, mouth watering for bloodshed and his next ration.

“We were just talking about that, actually.”

The clone blinked a few times, realizing the two other men were staring at him, waiting for an answer.

Ocelot tilted his head, “About the Boss showing you around the compound?”

_ Did _ they talk about that? “Yeah. it would be an honor.”

The kettle started to scream and Big Boss turned to take care of it, shoulder patches on his fatigue jacket facing Solidus.

“So,” Solidus drummed on the table, “Is this compound funded by the US or… You know.”

The merc threw a knowing glance over at Ocelot, clearing his throat, “It’s FOXHOUND but off the records, so to speak. Hence the lack of patches or good equipment but, we get by. The place is paying for itself.” He set a cup of muddy hot water in front of Ocelot and his clone, choosing to stay standing. “Not the most ideal situation, though.”

Solidus looked down at the cup, “Mn, Why out here though? What would-”

“Kid,” Boss looked him in the eye, “I try not to ask questions. I was put in charge of these men and to train them. Supposedly, there’s a satellite location around where you were. My guess is that this has something to do with oil.”

Ocelot sat back in his chair, raising his eyebrows, “Always does.”

He fell for it, hook line and sinker, “Alright.”

The next few hours were a caffeinated blur but, Solidus eventually wound up at the end of a hall in the barracks, trying to keep his cool while caught in a thought loop about that infected bullet wound one of the kids had gotten. Jack. Named after his grandfather, so-to-speak. The thought of the kid immediately made the soldier curse himself, knowing full well what he did was vile but couldn’t muster any real empathy about it at this point. All he felt was empty.

Solidus looked up and caught Ocelot and Big Boss whispering to each other again. Their body language was reserved but- intimate. Close, to say the least. Ocelot was left with a tiny whisper in his ear and the two slowly parted ways.


	2. Chapter 2

It was late 1994, a few days before Christmas in a US camp outside of Baghdad. A major had led Ocelot to a medical tent apprehensively, hands jammed nervously in the pockets of his fatigues.

“You said you knew this guy?” the American looked back to the tent and then to Ocelot, sucking on his teeth, “I’m not sure why G Men would send one of their own to take him back to the UK. Weird.”

“We- I knew him as a kid. It’s a long story, his father is above me, mother isn’t American. Complicated family history. Doesn’t really matter to you.” The spy tilted his head down slightly, trying to get a glimpse into the tent in front of him.

“What part of Texas did you say you were from?” The major narrowed his eyes, smelling the rot of something too top secret for his own good.

But Ocelot knew too much curiosity can kill a cat, “Amarillo. Moved around so much and rubbed elbows with too many foreign officials- my accent’s gotten all muddy.”

The major scoffed, deciding to poke further, “God, I haven’t been there in years, what was that lake called…”

“Lake Meredith?” Ocelot looked the man in the eye, biting his cheek in anger, “That’s twenty miles outside of the city. I always preferred the Palo Duro myself, if I was travelling out.”

The American gaped at him.

“Can I see the kid now or are we going to talk vacation spots all day?”

“Yeah, go. I’m sure your presence will be welcomed.”

The soldier he had been sent to retrieve was sitting on the edge of a cot, nursing a fresh black eye. He had grown like a weed since they had last seen each other. Long, stringy blonde hair hung in his face, finally out of that awkward boy-mullet. He was still skinny, almost emaciated but, someone finally managed to hang a shirt on his thin frame. Ocelot gave him a look over, trying to identify the fatigues he was wearing or- what was left of them anyway.

“"Nyoka ya Mpembe. It’s been a long time.”

The White Mamba.

“You came?” He shot up from the makeshift bed, eyes as big as dinner plates.

“Of course. You asked for me, didn’t you?”

A flash of that broken boy wiped across the soldier’s face, “the Americans beat it out of me, thinking I was some kind of double agent. You were the only person I could think of.”

Ocelot frowned, “Let’s just get you out of here. I really don’t want to linger longer than we have to.”

Their happy reunion was short-lived. The entire trip back to America was one long, continuous argument that was a hair away from a full-blown, no-holds-barred beatdown. The back and forth kept jumping from Big Boss, to The Patriots, back to Big Boss- by the time the two of them landed in JFK their voices were hoarse and phlegmy.  

It was in the middle of a cold, wet winter night. The sky was a clear, inky black and snowfall from the previous day was starting to melt. New York was a loud, sleepless city in 1994. Right in the swing of the club kid era, when people still went to raves and the streets were filthy with sleaze, culture and actual weirdos. This was civilization. An urban jungle.

“You need to let it go.”

“How can I let it go when all I have is this  _ anger _ ! It’s all I’m running on, Ocelot!”

The fight spilled out into the front of the airport and both of them stood there for awhile, stewing in their own anger.

“Are we going to take a cab or just  _ walk _ ?”

Both Ocelot and Eli were standing near a line of payphones outside the airport with a single suitcase between them. Ocelot shook his head, glancing to the road, “We’re waiting for an informant.”

“ _ Who _ ?”

“Your mother.”

Ocelot turned to face the woman behind them, hands in his coat, “EVA.”

She had aged well- as well as someone could with her history, anyway. Lean, with a fierce look in her wide, blue eyes. Her hair was teased to heaven and, for once, her neckline wasn’t plummeting to hell. A turtleneck, matched with a high waisted tartan skirt. Fashionable, to say the least. Eli blinked slowly, trying to match her face to the woman he saw in old photographs. He was speechless.

“How?” he stammered, eyes darting to Ocelot and then back to Eva, “I didn’t think you were real.” He took a step back, his face twisting in confusion.

She frowned at the response, reaching out to touch her son, only to be met with him jerking away, side-stepping behind Ocelot. The spy took a heavy breath through his nose and picked up his suitcase, handing EVA an envelope with his free hand, “here’s the floppy disc. It should contain the addresses that we need. I’m still working on You Know Who’s whereabouts, though.”

The two made a firm eye contact and started snarling at each other in Russian, EVA raising her voice when Ocelot mentioned “Solid Snake” in one long, angry sentence. The woman stopped abruptly, biting the inside of her lip and switching back to English quietly, “he’ll murder V for sure, then.”

Ocelot scoffed, “It can't be helped.”

“Don’t be so cold. He’s been  _ beyond _ instrumental.”

“You never understood the bigger picture, have you? He was always a pawn, a backup- his entire existence was nothing  _ but _ a ‘break in case of emergency’.” Ocelot flicked his wrist as if to break a glass pane with a tiny hammer. “This is why we need to start, pardon the pun,  _ solidifying _ this plan. Leave the dead drop in a week like I mentioned earlier. Keep moving. We just- need to be ready ourselves.”

“What about him?” Eva pointed her chin in a quick nod to her son.

“I have a plan. Don’t worry about Eli, you can have a proper family reunion later.”

She sighed, “that’s all I’ve been doing since the day he was born!”

Eli’s face softened, but kept his distance, and the two made eye contact before EVA walked away, hollering to Ocelot he should “try to relax” before the night was through.

He looked over at Eli and the scoffed under his breath, “don’t push her away. We need her.”

“Need her for  _ what _ ?”

The two made a firm, angry eye contact as Ocelot started to hail a cab, “Outer Heaven.”


	3. Chapter 3

Christmas came with a blizzard that year. Frigid, icy snow filled the streets of New York and the streets ran thick with a heavy silence, save for the occasional snow plow. Ocelot sat patiently by a corded phone, checking his watch intermediately. When it finally rang after much anticipation, he answered slowly, his free hand balled nervously on top of his desk. “Boss.”

“Ocelot... I didn’t think you would pick up.”

“The weather is awful here, I had to delay my meeting with the contact in Asia. I couldn’t book another flight until after the new year.”

“Mn. EVA told me you found the boy.” you could hear the flick of a zippo lighter in the background.

“MI6 didn’t want any part of him since he was sent to Iraq as a sleeper agent under SAS. SAS didn’t claim him due to internal conflict. The Americans thought he was a double agent and waterboarded him until he cracked and begged for  _ me _ , of all people.”

“You?” Big Boss chuckled, “That’s rich.”

“I’m still waiting for Washington to call me back in regards to taking him in… What do you think?”

“They’ll want him to go through some SERE training if they’re taking someone who  _ cracked _ but, he has potential. You would know that better than anyone.”

“I do.”

There was a pause. Ocelot could hear his Boss exhale cigar smoke, a sound that made his heart flutter.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the one I’ve been training.”

“Solid Snake…” He hated the way that name sounded. They should have just named the kid Erect Cock. “I told EVA you were going to be switching places with V again… She’s convinced he won't make it out alive if the two confront each other.”

The other line was so quiet it felt like it had been disconnected. Boss cleared his throat, “What do you think?”

“She’s... Completely right.”

“I agree.”

Ocelot’s tongue felt too heavy in his mouth, his head too light and his body too distant. That was the last thing he wanted to hear. Not now, and not from… Him. “John.” The name crawled up his throat and tumbled out of his mouth, feeling too heavy and too thick.

“Adam, it will be okay.” There was another long, heavy pause between them. “I’m going to make sure you keep in charge of the other one.”

“He was always my duty.”

“Exactly. I need to go make some arrangements. I want you to check in on the first.”

“Of course. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Ocelot hung up the phone and immediately went to rub his face, feeling completely drained.

As expected, the US called upon FOXHOUND to investigate Outer Heaven for weapons of mass destruction the following year. Operative Gray Fox was captured, as expected. However, what wasn’t expected was Solid Snake not only defeating Big Boss’s body double but, NATO completely obliterating Outer Heaven with an air force strike. Focus was now completely shifted to the warring Zanzibar Land and its aptly named “Mercenary War”. A long, solem year passed and Ocelot eventually abandons his work in the US, favoring intel retrieval in Zanzibar. With his help, the tide of the war changes, and Zanzibar Land finds independence in early 1997. Spring.

“So. You’re a president now.” he leans into the doorway of Big Boss’s room, holding the door frame loosely.

“I suppose so. Close the door behind you.” Boss turned from his desk, rubbing his good eye.

The two meet in the middle of the room, Ocelot pulling his Boss in for a light kiss on the forehead. It was reciprocated, and the two held each other in silence.

“What’s with the moustache?”

Ocelot scoffed as a thumb ran across his upper lip, “I’ve had to put up with your beard for over 30 years.”

“You love it.” He rubbed his rough cheek against Ocelot’s, pulling him in closer, “Do you remember that summer we spent in Wyoming? It’s been on my mind for weeks, I can’t stop thinking about how you kept burning canned beans.”

“I remember how you’d hate getting your feet cold so you would bathe in the stream with your boots still on.” The two smiled at one another, remembering their bittersweet youth more than foundly in a comfortable silence. Ocelot sighed heavily into Boss’s shoulder, eyes closed tight, “John, let’s run away together. Like we used to. I promise not to feed you anymore burned beans.”

“We can't.”

“I’ll even shave.”

He swallowed heavily, “I need to be here.”

There was a huge clamor in the hallway and the two pulled apart quickly.

“Boss!” A soldier threw the door open, leaning onto the door handle, “you need to come out here!”

Both men looked at eachother and jogged into the hallway. Ocelot turned to face the recruit but he was gone, yanking Big Boss in the opposite direction. He pulled out his pistol, trying to keep his panicked, inner dialogue at a low roar when seeing Eli at the other end of the hallway covered in dirt and blood.

“ **Eli** !” 

The two ran to each other, a teenage girl following behind Eli. She too was covered in dirt, the rifle slung around her shoulder was caked in mud around the stock, as if she had hunkered down somewhere in a mud puddle.

“There was a bomb underneath a jeep and-” Eli leaned against the wall to catch his breath. 

The girl started talking in rushed Arabic and Ocelot looked at her blankly, making her pause when realizing his lack of fluency, and placed a hand to her chest, “Wolf.”

He eyed the sniper rifle hanging on her thin frame, a H&K PSG1, and mimicked her gesture, “Ocelot. Did you see who planted the bomb? Did it detonate?”

Eli finally caught his breath, “We were at the shooting range replacing targets up on the hill. I wanted to come get you before-”

An alarm starts wailing and soldiers start to pour out of rooms left and right, throwing on their gear and heading for the exit. Eli frowns and looks at the sniper, the two of them having a short back and forth in Arabic. The girl sighs angrily and starts tugging at Ocelot’s sleeve, pulling him towards the nearest exit.

Eli ran after them, yelling over the alarm, “Wolf!”

She turns to look at Ocelot, making a gun motion with her free hand, “Do you shoot?”

“Yeah?”

The three exit the building and spill into a tiny parking lot, Eli trailing behind.

“You will drive!” Wolf shouts, pulling a ring of keys out of her pocket and throwing them in Eli’s direction. He catches them but hesitates as he circles around the Jeep, looking past Ocelot gravely.

“Did you get a good look at him?”

Ocelot turns around, the recruit from earlier leading Big Boss out into the parking lot, “No, I-”

He’s interrupted by Wolf, who’s already in the passenger side of the Jeep, hollering frantically. Boss looks at her, to Ocelot, and then to Eli. “You’re going after him?” He says this flatly, almost as a statement.

“I can handle this.” Eli clutches the door of the car, hoping to stay out of his father’s way.

Ocelot throws a worried glance to his Boss, only to be met with a smirk, “ _ You’re _ going with them. I’m not riding in the back of her car; the seat belts are busted.” He turns to head back inside, the recruit trailing tightly behind him.

There’s an uneasy silence as Ocelot enters the back of the vehicle, noticing that the lap belts had been cut years ago. The car was just two seats, a bench in the back, and a motor with wheels. The canvas roof and siding had been completely shredded and bleached by the sun, leaving any imaginative protection from potential gunfire in the way of the wind. This was a bad, bad hair-brained idea, one that Ocelot was barely privy to, and it left this huge rock of anxiety in his gut.

“He must really value you to put you in that suicide seat.” Eli makes eye contact as he turns to back out of the parking lot.

“Knock it off.”

The jeep starts picking up speed and bounces up out of a pothole, sending Ocelot a good few inches off the rear bench. He bites his tongue in surprise and sharp pain fills his mouth, trying to hold onto that memory of Wyoming to distract himself. 

_ “So close.” _

_ The two had been fishing for the great part of the day. Shirtless and hunched over the river bed with nets, swiping and grabbing furiously at kokanee salmon. Ocelot managed to net one, finally. A huge, amber red male. The two hollered in excitement, Snake grabbing the net from Ocelot and twisting it shut, “I’ll gut him for you.” _

_ They ate the fish raw, cutting it into thin stips and layering it on the buttery crackers Ocelot demanded to bring with him. It took a while before Snake admitted that, yes, this was better than eating it in big, raw bites like a bear. He cuts his finger trying to salvage the last bit of salmon and they were so close when Ocelot went to kiss the cut. That one peck on the thumb led to a kiss on the cheek and then the mouth and, just like nothing, they were naked. And they were free. And they were happy. And they had this valley only to themselves and the kokanee salmon. _

“So close.” Wolf balances herself by slowly standing up, hiking herself onto the passenger's seat in a tight squat. With muzzle of her rifle balancing on the windshield, she takes in a sharp breath, motioning to Ocelot, “Line up your shot with mine. You hit him here if I miss the tire.” Wolf taps her shoulder blade. 

“Hold that thought!” Eli gasses the engine and yanks at the security brake, drifting the jeep around a tight, winding corner. The car fishtails in the mud for a moment as he regains control, and the target comes back view as the top of a hill. Another bare-bones jeep, stolen off the compound, driven by someone in ZL army fatigues. 

Ocelot leans forward and takes a revolver from its holster, resting the side of his palm on the top of Wolf’s shoulder. Both of them take in a gasp of air, and she gives the signal, “ الآن!”

_ “Have you been to the Brooks Range, out in Alaska? That’s the last time I felt this small.” _

_ Both Snake and Ocelot were laying on their backs, cloud gazing at the open, blue sky. Wind blew through the valley, making bright waves of grass rustle around both of them. You could stare upwards at the stretching skyscape and just get completely lost in what’s above you. _

_ “I’ve never been.” Ocelot turns to look at his counterpart, rolling onto his side lazily. _

_ “It’s a mountain range that sits above the arctic circle, so the sky up there is pale, almost white. But there’s next to nothing up there. You’re isolated even from wildlife.” _

_ Both felt at peace here. Truly, utterly at peace. The type of peace The Boss had died for.  _

In Zanzibar, on the other side of the world, he felt  _ so close _ to achieving that again. And then  _ this _ asshole shows up. This unbreakable  **_terrorist_ ** who had the  **_audacity_ ** to ruin a perfect day in paradise. 

Wolf leans into the Jeep, now parked in the middle of the muddy, unpaved back road. She’s muttering onto the radio as both Eli and Ocelot look over the wreckage the three of them had caused.

“His neck must’ve snapped when he hit the tree.” Ocelot leans against the hood of the car and folds his arms.

Eli gives the corpse a once over, looking for dog tags or a wallet, “Wolf said she recognized him from working the mess hall but didn’t know his name. No identity. Are we going to get in trouble for killing him?” he looks back to Ocelot.

“I don’t know how high the Boss’s expectations are for you  _ or _ her.” Ocelot throws a nod back behind him.

The rev of an engine approaches from up the road, revealing a transport truck at the top of the hit. Just like the jeep, this too was bare bones, running on rust and empty prayers. It parks on level ground and a few soldiers pour out of the back, Big Boss and the recruit from earlier coming slowly out of the front.

“Took you long enough.” Boss semicircles the jeep and gives a silent nod to Wolf before stopping at the hood of the car.

“Oh? I never meant to keep you waiting.” Ocelot smiles slight, shaking his head.

They both linger in place, watching the small unit pick over the crime scene. Boss sighs through his nose, watching Eli explain the situation to a soldier barely old enough to drink, “I’m guessing the three of you ran him off the road?”

“He lost control when his tire was shot out and careened into the tree.”

Boss lets out a long whistle in surprise.


	4. Chapter 4

They kept farm animals on the compound, of all things. It seemed odd at first to walk past a chicken coup and some pigs to go to the shooting range but, when you remember Zanzibar is a country and not an army base, things like farming and skills that don't involve a weapon make a little more sense. The sun was starting to set over the distant woods as Ocelot sat near the pig pin, idly watching the animals take roost for the night. He remembers Venom’s short-lived obsession with sheep and sighs deeply, almost wishing he was back in the Seychelles. Things seemed more clear cut back then.

“All three of you really did a number on that guy.”  Boss sits beside Ocelot on the bench and looks out into the wilderness, watching the sun lowly sink behind the treeline, “I figured sending you would have kept the other two from killing him. I expected more from you.”

He reminds silent, balling his hands loosely in his lap and looking at the tips of his boots like a scolded child. The smell of cigar smoke fills the air and Ocelot can feel Boss put his free arm against the back of the bench, his fingers lightly grazing the spy’s shoulder. 

“Did you ever find out who he was?” he croaks this, unable to make eye contact with his superior and comrade.

“Yeah…” Boss trails off for a moment to think,“but don’t worry about it.”

Ocelot remains silent, praying that whatever comes next isn’t a reassignment back to the states.

“You need to stay focused. Winning Zanzibar was just a very small milestone.” The two turn to each other and make a soft eye contact.

“I’ll try my best,” Ocelot swallows, “I’m sorry.”

Boss rubs his comrade’s shoulder roughly and stands up, “That’s all I ask.”

When you’re in love, and I mean  _ in love _ , you want to give every part of your being to this other person. You want them to consume you and merge with you into a two-headed monster. Pleasing them is all that you can think about and there is this invisible chain around your neck that you offer them at bent knee. It’s infatuation. One would argue there’s a difference between love and infatuation but,  _ is there _ ? You can’t help it because every time you hear them laugh or see them smile it’s intoxicating. Love is, without a doubt, addicting when you find the right person. But it’s also draining. When someone doesn’t love you the way you love them it wears on you. It’s this one way street where you’ve gutted yourself in desperation and start offering liver, lung and heart in order to appease another person.

Ocelot, somehow, never ran out of parts of himself to give Big Boss. It seemed endless, like his body was performing a magic trick everytime the Boss took and inch and then a mile. Even after knowing one another for three decades, Ocelot still managed to find a bit of his kidney or colon to give as an offering. 

That was the difference between him and Kaz, or even EVA- Ocelot did not know when enough was enough, especially so late in his life. Sometimes, the type of loyalty that comes with love is unprecedented. It’s blind and unwavering. It’s because of this that he understood why EVA wanted to become a surrogate for Big Boss’s clones. When you love somebody, when you offer somebody a part of you, you hope to get a part of them back. Skin for skin, heart for heart. Love, idealistically, is an equal trade. Realistically, however, it’s mostly just yanking your insides out and pleading for another to take them.

The evening faded into a dark, warm night, signaling the frogs and crickets to sing. The compound settles into a sleepy goodnight by the time Ocelot wandered back into the dorms, the dimly lit hallway creating two shadowy figures in the hall’s intersection. He stopped to listen, hearing Eli’s voice coming from one of them, and squints into the dark distance. Their voices raise.

“He  _ saved _ me. If I had never met Saladin I’d be just another body in a pit. He has shown me a life outside of  **cowering** .”

“He’s not  _ your _ father.”

“What difference does that make? He's your blood yet you can’t even give him basic respect.” 

The shorter figure storms off towards the parking lot from earlier, leaving Eli to stand there defeated for a moment, returning to the direction he came from. The hallway settles and the only noises to be heard were from the nocturnal wildlife and the air conditioning turning on, making the vents rumble the a deep  _ wrr _ .

 

Ocelot snuck back into his room and sat on the edge of his bed, tracing an old scar with icy cold fingers through a dress shirt. 

_ “Hold still, I need to pry the bullet out.” _

He swallowed, remembering Snake taking a pair of tweezers disinfected with white rum and plunging them into his belly halfway through a scared  _ “I’ll try my best.” _

He can still hear his own voice, young and pretty, whimpering out a loud  _ “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” _

_ “Shh, it’s okay, nobody means to get shot.” _

Ocelot grabs at his own shirt, his stomach churning as he remembers the tiny  _ “I love you.” _ that slipped out of his mouth after he was stitched up.

_ “Of course you do.” _ Snake says this matter of factly,  _ “I just saved you life.” _

It seemed endearing in ‘69 but now it feels arrogant and smug.

 

When he finally goes to bed it’s miserable, haunting dreams.

 

_ He approaches a towering demon, it’s left hand drenched in blood, its single horn broken and pointed. Its right eye was oozing as ravens peck away at sore flesh. _

_ “I love you.” he tells the monster, posturing himself like a cat on all fours, pacing around and in between the abomination’s limbs. _

_ It opens it’s mouth with a loud, metal screech and it’s voice booming, pouring out like water, “Of course you do. You’ve given me a bit of skin and your heart. But I require more. Your liver will suffice.” _

_ A cold, sharp knife materializes into Ocelot’s hands. He sits back onto his heels and proceeds to slice into his own belly, coming to the realization he’s in his major uniform. He fumbles for his guts, wrist-deep inside his belly. But can’t find anything. It’s just bloody sand.  _ Sand _. _

“How did I get so much sand in my boots?”

Eli was sitting on the shore of a lake a few miles from the compound, that teen girl still beside him, trying to get rocks out of his combat boots. Ocelot folds his arms and looks out past the clear water, hearing the two chatter indistinctly. A group of soldiers march past on the road behind him, the sound of a jeep trailing slowly behind. Ocelot glances over his shoulder as the car stops- Big Boss.

The two greet each other silently and watch Eli put his shoes back on, going for another lap around the lake. Boss sucks on his teeth and then swallows dryly, fumbling around in the pockets of his fatigues, “I’m not surprised those two are getting along. She bit me when I found her.”

“Bit you?”

“Like a wolf.”

They both look at each other, Ocelot cracking a small smile.

“You’re training him well.” Boss finally lights his cigar and exhales loudly, “but you can tell he still wants to kill me.”

“Of course he does.” Ocelot fiddles with his scarf, “I can’t beat that out of him. I think the only reason he hasn’t is because he’s loyal to  _ me _ .”

He lets out a small hum in agreement, tracing the hem of his coat pocket. 

“There  _ is _ good in him, y’know.” Ocelot dragged a boot in the sand, taking a heavy breath. 

The conversation pauses and both men looked at one another solemnly, turning to watch Wolf peg Eli a few times with pebbles. 


	5. Chapter 5

Eli was finally put to work gathering intelligence i Fall of ‘97. He slowly started to replace Ocelot in NYC, collecting floppy discs and CDs from dead drops and middle men. It was the Monday morning after Thanksgiving, raining off and on, when he stepped into a small, dark cafe to meet an informant. The air smelled so much like coffee you could get a contact high and, it was so dark your eyes had to adjust to the dim light of bulky computer screens and track lighting. Eli walked past the counter, hand in the pocket of his trench coat, and made a swift B line to the back room. He swipes a black, plastic key card into a digital lock and the heavy fire door opens to a flight of wooden stairs leading to a pitch black basement. It takes a moment for him to gather composure and walk into what felt like an animal’s mouth.

A tall man in a cloak and gas mask stands off to the side of the stairs, back facing Eli, idly plucking at a keyboard with a single, thin hand. A large CRT monitor illuminates him in a blue glow, shining off the mask’s rubber almost as if it was wet. The two stood there for a minute in a solemn quiet, Eli taking a  3½-inch floppy disk out of his pocket slowly and holding it out.

“I have the files you asked for.”

“Mn. What’s the passphrase.” This is said as a statement, not a question, in a hoarse voice.

“Twelve times five.”

The figure turns around and grabs the disc, gives it a look over, and inserts it into the computer tower. After poking around in the files he looks back over his shoulder, “It checks out. We’ll keep in touch if I need anything else.”

Eli lingers, searching for a way to word what he wants to say.

“You can go.”

“I have a favor to ask.”

A sigh, more of a hiss, escapes out of the man’s mask.

“I need information on a woman- I can’t find her and my superior has been having trouble for years… Maybe you can.”

“Name?” The cloaked figure starts to type furiously, bringing up a database.

“Dr. Clark. Woman, caucasian, uhm- American. She’s former CIA.”

“Do you have anything else? That’s not much to work on.”

“She was in the FOX unit before it disbanded she- she worked on operation Snake Eater...”

The typing stopped and the man tried to stifle a chuckle, “Are you kidding me? I can’t help you. Even if her files were transferred to digital there’s no way I’d be able to access  _ Snake Eater _ documents. You’d have a better time ressorecting  _ Big Boss _ .”

Eli made a face like someone vomited on his shoes, “yeah.”

“She’s a Patriot, y’know.”

“Excuse me?”

The man turns to face him, “The Patriots. Everyone who worked on that mission formed a pact. They’re  _ tapped in _ , it’s why I don’t have you email me anything. Rumor has it they cloned  _ him  _ too, you know.”

“Big Boss?”

“Right. There’s three. Twins and… Another one. They fucked up the first two times- the third one is a perfect clone.”

“Uh-huh.”  Eli closes his eyes, trying to gather a shred of patience for this conversation.

“Mm. It’s just rumors, though. I read something once about Big Boss being an alien demi-god too.” He turns around and adjusts his hood, the computer’s glow briefly illuminating its metallic lining.

“Where the hell did you hear that?”

“Internet.”

Eli met with the man in the basement a few times after that, each time asking if there was any possible way Clark could be pinpointed. Finally, after much protest and many more offerings of floppy discs, he was handed a CD with “ клон ребенка” written in sloppy cyrillic across the jewel case. 

The figure hesitated a moment after the information changed hands, balling a limp fist after the CD was taken from him. “I know about you.” He says this as flat as he ever does, but the tone is knowing- almost soft.

“Yeah?” Eli looks at the disc briefly before shoving it in his pocket.

“Do you remember me. I mean…  _ Really _ remember me?” He pulls down his hood and reveals a thick mess of orange hair, sticking out at every possible angle in loose curls.

Eli takes a small step back, hands starting to shake, as a memory floods his head.

_ A boy in a straight jacket floats over Big Boss? Venom? (Where does one begin and the other end?) He says something callous. There’s a knife. It’s held at Eli’s throat. The Boss parrots something that you’ve heard from Clark before. _

“Inferior.”

_ It almost sounds like he’s reciting the things she’s said verbatim. The boy he- the molotov is floating? No- The boy is. They both are? Eli closes his eyes and there’s a loud crack of glass and a scream. _

Hate is a strange thing. It’s an intense, aching emotion that cultivates when we feel hurt or even scared. Hate can be a defense mechanism, a justification or, an excuse. Hate makes us feel empowered when we have nothing left, it makes us feel in control of the uncontrollable. It breeds jealousy and bigotry. It keeps us up at night and fuels revenge fantasies. Hate is a powerful, intense emotion- one that can sometimes be so much more complex than love.

It’s in the middle of the night when Ocelot receives contact from Eli. He fumbles for the phone, comforter pulled over his head, “Hello?”

“We need to talk. Now.”

“Wh- Eli? What time is it?”

“What the hell was going on back in the  Seychelles? Were you trying to brainwash me too?”

Ocelot didn’t bother to respond to that, opting to sit up and turn on a light. “What’s gotten into you?” The question is asked more with concern than annoyance.

“Who was Venom Snake?”

Ocelot rolled his eyes, shrugging on ten layers of emotional defense, “Who was John Galt?”

“Don’t get smart with me. That’s not even the quote.”

“My point still stands… Venom was a lot of things.”

Eli scoffed, “Most people  _ are _ .”

“Look, I’m going back to bed. We can talk about this in the mor-”

“I don’t understand! Why did he know so much?  **_Why did he hate me so much_ ** !?” The response is a frantic shriek.

Ocelot swallowed dryly, his throat feeling like it was going to close up, “The hypnagogic therapy was just classified files. Word for word. I never tried to persuade feelings.”

“Wh-? What  **_file_ ** **s** .”

“Mission debriefings, medical records-”

Eli let out furious laugh, “I have her information now, y’know. I’m going to kill her. I am.”

Ocelot blindly grabs at how to word his feelings, calculating if it’s worth it to maybe just hang up, “Who, Clark? Fine.  **_Fine_ ** , I am so tired of hearing you worked up over this.”

“You not going to stop me.” He was taken back, almost like being told “no” would have justified wanting her dead, somehow.

Ocelot looked down at his bare hand, examining faded scars and tiny little lines, “Eli… Venom was a sock puppet for a lot of people’s anger and frustrations. There was a poltergeist inside him. I don’t think what he was saying to you was how  _ he _ felt. I think he was just repeating what Clark probably scribbled down as a footnote. The information we pass around in this line of work is only factual to an extent. We are constantly playing a game of telephone. I tell you something and you tell someone else in your own words, and so on and so on. You and I are just consistently tell half-truths and white lies.”

“You’re contradicting yourself. Either he’s parroting what Clark feels or he’s interpreting what she’s deducted. Make up your mind.” He hangs up the phone so hard Ocelot thinks the receiver surely broke into a million little pieces. The two don’t make contact for a while after that. November fades into December and snow dusts Zanzibar Land like confectioner’s sugar. 

It’s a bright, winter morning at the lake. The sun is rising over the tree line and out of the withering, pulled apart clouds from the night before. White geese putz around the shore, honking and pecking. It’s peacefully quiet, save for the birds, and too far from the compound to hear morning drills. Boss plucks stale bread out of a shopping bag, scattering it piece by piece and Ocelot stands beside him, arms folded, watching intently.

It’s like this for a while until two geese start pecking and screaming at each other over a particularly large crumb of bread. The fight then settles naturally when another bird eats it. Boss shakes his head, continuing to toss crumbs, “They’re just like the recruits.”

“Does that make you Mother Goose?”

“No, Big Goose.”

The two look at each other and smile broadly before looking back over the lake. Ocelot traces a thumb over his lips for a moment and then looks to his side, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Go ahead.” 

The shopping bag rustles as another bit of bread is yanked from the half-eaten loaf and thrown to the geese. Ocelot looks for his words carefully, knowing that this was sensitive, “Eli stopped answering my calls.”

“You two having a rough spot, huh?”

“He knows where Clark is.”

“Hm. I hope he pulls a bullet in her for me.” He says this frankly but the tone in his voice almost sounds like he can’t commit to being that petty.

“Boss… Do you blame her or Zero more?”

“Listen, If you’re going to argue Zero would have found another scientist capable of doing her work, I agree. What I don’t agree with is her knowing my feelings on the matter and sneaking behind my back.”

Ocelot looks out to the lake and sighs, “You’re right.”

“It’s easy to get revenge when you’re willing to be loose with who you put the blame on.”

“I just feel like I’ve never done right by him. Every time I reach out he pulls away twice as hard as the last time.”

Boss thinks for a moment before answering, “But little Mouse, you are not alone, In proving foresight may be vain.  The best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.” He recites the poem more to the geese than he does Ocelot, tossing the final piece of bread to them.

They stand there in a comfortable silence for a moment before Boss takes a long stretch, cracking his back, “let’s go. We have work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally try not to add notes because I feel like the way I write narrative is too... plain That adding footnotes might sound condescending to my readers, like I'm assuming they're not smart enough to get what I'm saying. However:
> 
> "Who is John Galt?" is a reference to Atlas Shrugged, specifically, it's a reference to how the phrase is used as an expression of dissatisfaction in the book and not so much who John Galt actually is or what is stands for. Basically, Ocelot is telling Eli to fuck off, because the answer to his question is a lot more complicated than what he wants to here. Which is a total bastardization of a reference, I know.
> 
> "But little Mouse, you are not alone, In proving foresight may be vain. The best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry." Is a reference to the Robert Burns poem "To A Mouse" which is where John Steinbeck's "Of Mice and Men" gets its title. Of Mice and Men gets referenced a lot, I know, but I just want to make it clear that I'm referencing the poem and not the book.
> 
> I just wanted to throw those to things out there since if I'm given the option to add footnotes I might as well do so. If you have any quests feel free to leave a comment!


	6. Chapter 6

“I keep having the same dream.”

“You do?”

“I have a cattle prod in my hands and there’s a prisoner bound with a black trash bag over his head on the floor. I start pacing the perimeter of the room, the floor and walls are a dark concrete and the floor is wet, like someone just hosed it down. I’m yelling in Russian, something about away chasing mice? Snakes? The prisoner doesn’t respond so I jab him with the cattle prod.

‘Fallen for me?’ he says that when I stop- almost plain as day in perfect English. ‘Fallen for me?’ I just keep _screaming_. We go back and forth like this and he’s- he’s so bloody and it takes me off guard because he should have burns from the electricity not… Bleeding. So I nudge him with my boot and you know what? He’s a stigmatic- his hands have two huge holes you could stick a finger through.”

“Freud would be ecstatic to hear all this, you know.”

“Don’t start, EVA.”

“Look- the reason I called was to tell you... I just- I think you should hear this from me and not someone else.”

“What?”

“Miller was an informant for Operation Intrude.”

Operation Intrude F014. Another assassination attempt on Big Boss involving Solid Snake. One that proved successful. Boss was burned alive, slowly, via a makeshift flamethrower. It would have been a painful, tedious death. Something too sadistic even for Ocelot’s tastes. He was sent to New York only a few days before. The request to go back to America felt deliberate, like everyone _knew_. What felt even more pre-planned, and extremely off-putting, was the fact he had to find out via a news outlet and not a trusted source.

When Snake was in the ICU for a septic bullet wound, back in ‘67, Ocelot didn’t drink. When Boss was in his coma, Ocelot didn’t drink either. But dead? Outright dead? With nothing to bury? That calls for a drink. Or a couple. Or a bender that’s lasted over a month.

He kept watching hoarded VHS tapes on a continuous loops in an unlit apartment. Back when _The Dolly Parton Show_ still aired, Ocelot would tape it to watch in between interrogations and arguments with Miller over “proper budgeting”. It was a creature comfort and some of the recordings ended up in his crate of keepsakes along with photos and matchbooks from hotels.

“Now, this is a true story for those of you who don’t know. I wrote this song about twenty years ago about this woman down in Nashville that worked at the bank. She was tryin’ to take care of my husband while I was out on the road! The TV crackles and Parton smiles at her own story. Her sweet, sugary Tennessee cadence continues to fill the dark apartment, “Well, that didn’t go over too big with me! I fought that red-headed woman like a wildcat. She jerked my wig off and almost beat me to death with it.” She laughs again, almost shyly, and turns away from the camera for a brief moment.

Ocelot’s transfixed, remembering nights with little sleep trying to study every mannerism and slight draw in order to iron out his Russian accent. With video it’s easier, especially VHS. But, back in the late 60’s, all he had was a 35mm film of _A Few Dollars More_ , which was almost completely useless since the voices were dubbed over. You can’t read how the jaw sits in somebody’s mouth like that, how words posture in their face. Studying old cowboy movies had its perks, however. They taught Ocelot how to be level-headed, calculated, how to _glare_.

Morning turns into afternoon and Ocelot’s still watching old tapes on the floor, cycling through Clint Eastwood standards. He’s moved on to vodka at this point- it gets you drunk faster. The front door opens and shuts gently and he’s too tired, too drunk, and too miserable to even attempt to go for his revolver.

“If you’re here to kill me just do it fast.”

“I’m here to give my condolences.”

Ocelot’s eyes roll around in his head as he looks up to his right. Eli. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

He kicks an empty liquor bottle out of the way, sitting on the couch Ocelot’s leaning against. They both watch the TV for a minute and Eli looks down, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He squints, “Have you been crying?”

“Mind your business.”

They go back to watching the movie, Eli picking at his nails idly, eyes glancing back every so often to Ocelot. He looks over the mess in front of him. Empty booze bottles, scattered photos, VHS tapes in a loose pile, Ocelot’s disheveled appearance in what you could _barely_ call pyjamas- he was a mess. Utterly a mess. He swallows, trying to find a way to word this, “you really loved him.”

“With all my heart.”

“Well. I have something you might be interested in.” He sits forward, placing three index cards onto the coffee table, “take a look at these.”

“How did you even get into my apartment.”

“Just- _look_!”

Ocelot leans slightly onto the table and spreads the cards out. Clark and Anderson. Each of them had their own card with a few aliases, phone numbers and address written down accordingly.

“I’ve been doing intel.”

“You never killed Clark… Hm. Anderson will be the hardest target, he’s still doing work with DARPA. Rumor has it the reason they were so interested in Zanzibar to begin with was to copy Metal Gear D’s blueprints.” Ocelot rubs his thumb against the side of his pointer finger, trying to think, “I have a contact who would be able to get us in on the project, get us close… Do you know if Clark is still working?”

Eli nodded, “She’s doing government contracted work in nanotechnology now.”

Ocelot took in a heavy breath and leaned back against the couch, “We can’t just peck at them slowly, it needs to be one swift blow.”

“We can’t kill both simultaneously.”

“No, we can’t.” Ocelot abruptly stands up, grabbing the index cards, “Make us some coffee, I need to make calls.”  The two start rummaging around the tiny apartment, Ocelot coming back in an old T shirt and fatigue slacks, a cardboard box full of documents tucked under his arm. It slams down onto the coffee table with a heavy thud, and Eli comes back out to the living room with a hot cup of coffee.

“Hold still.” Ocelot presses an index card to Eli’s eyes and forehead, pulling hair out of his face with a free hand, their faces inches from each other, “make a face like you stepped in shit.”

Eli grimaces, Miller’s information facing away from him, written across his face in sloppy print.

“Perfect.” Ocelot pulls away, “There’s old intel tapes in that box- they’re Miller’s. I need you to study them, to a T. Then, get his whereabouts. **In that order**. You call me as soon as his address reaches your hands. You do not rush this, I don’t care if it takes years. Is that understood?”

The two frown at each other and Eli nods.


	7. Chapter 7

“I wouldn’t say you’re a king _ just _ yet.”

Solidus turns to the full body mirror, adjusting the jacket of his tuxedo, “Oh?”

Ocelot was leaning back into his chair, the two in a hotel room preparing for a campaign fundraiser, “You’re still a prince.” There was a lull as the clone fidgeted with his suit a bit more, Ocelot looking out the window longingly for a moment, “Do remember that night in Africa, after your father went to bed, how nervous you were when you kissed me?”

Solidus snorted, “I was naive and desperate for approval back then.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Both men turned to look at each other slowly, “I really never thought about it. I just acted on an impulse.”

“I know there’s more of a reason than your poor impulse control.”

Putting a “why” to the action made Solidus feel small, ashamed. His voice was almost a whisper, “let it rest.”

The spy stood up, inches from his counterpart, “It’s still crooked.” He personally undid the knot, starting over with an unbreakable eye contact and sly grin.

Solidus tried not to shiver with unease. The last few years the two had kept in brief contact over the phone and hadn’t seen each other in roughly seven years. Something was there that once wasn’t, maybe? He was unsure. But, it made him weak and his head light as a feather.

Ocelot lowered his voice lowered to a soft mutter, “One thing I never understood was your intense desire to stand apart from your father but turning around and mimicking him to a T.” He finishes the tie but his gloved hands still lingered, leather ever so slightly touching the other man’s neck.

Solidus frowned, “let me live this down.”

“I just want you to admit it.”

The clone let out a nervous sigh, breaking out into anxiety-riddled sweat, “I wish- I wish sometimes- I  _ was _ him so I don’t have to live with myself.  **Alright** ?” He scowls, raising his voice on the last word, hoping to escape Ocelot’s grasp with a shred of dignity.

Ocelot cracks a smile, “you can be.” The two were only a breath apart from each other's lips.

“I’m guessing there’s a catch.”

The spy leered, “There’s no catch, _ Snake _ . When you’ll be crowned the world will be yours again, and  _ then _ you can leave you mark once and for all.”

Solidus took in a tiny breath, his stomach a tight knot, “Where would I start?”

“With me.” 

They go to kiss but, a pager starts going off in Ocelot’s pocket, making him break eye contact and pull away, “I need to take this.” The clone let out a loud, slow exhale in response and excused himself from the room. Ocelot stopped him, “There was a favor I wanted to ask you.”

Solidus pauses at the door, silently looking to his side.

“I have a team pulled together. I need you to put your brother in charge of FOXHOUND.”

“If you think that’s wise.”

Ocelot narrowed his gaze and nodded, the action making Solidus sulk out of the room wordlessly. He watches the door and lets out a loud, heavy exhale when it clicks shut. Anxiety-riddled stomach cramps gives Ocelot the hiccups, making him sit on the bed, clutching his head in embarrassment. The pager goes off again and it's finally fished out of his breast pocket. Eva.

The phone only rings once before she picks up, “I didn’t interrupt your  _ date _ , did I?” Ocelot lets out an angry scoff and she cackles in response, “What’s wrong? I thought you were better than stooping to  _ my _ tactics?”

“Knock it off.”

“Y’know,” you could hear her flipping through pages, a folder maybe, “rumor had it Marilyn Monroe had both Bobby  _ and _ John Kennedy’s ear. That’s pretty powerful if you ask me.”

“EVA.”

“I’m just saying.” She sighs flippantly, “Anyway, I was able to break the code your intel passed along to you. This was some very vintage stuff,  _ Adam _ . Reminiscent of a soviet number station code.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“What am I  _ implying _ ?”

“That this was cipher related. I just-”

“Didn’t have the time to break your own protégé’s work? Or didn’t want to tell me he finally offed Clark?”

A stiff silence filled both lines.

“It reads ‘the medic is buried in her foxhole’. He does the same thing you’ve always done, alternating the numeral code in and out of English…”

“He finally did it.” Ocelot sighs, sitting forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“Well. It’s always been my duty to be the messenger. I’ll page you if I hear anything about Anderson, as always..”

The two hang up without saying goodbye, more than happy to be rid of one another.


	8. Chapter 8

“You finally have a codename now.” Wolf shoves her hands into a thick, down coat. The Alaskan winter whipping wildly around outside.

Eli, now Liquid Snake, nods, “I was always a Snake. It’s just a formality.” He walks away from the window he had been staring out of and sits at his desk. “Your English is getting better.”

“I left Zanzibar shortly after you did.” She paces over to the window and fumbles around in her coat for a moment, fishing out a bottle of pills. “Did you see that pack of wolves when you came into the base?”

“I heard them but I didn’t see them.” Liquid watches her struggle with the prescription, Wolf’s hands shaking nervously, “Do you need help with that?” The bottle is passed without eye contact. “...Valium?” He asks this with  quiet concern, not judgement.

“After  _ he _ died I- I can barely sit still anymore.” The confession is said in embarrassment as she’s handed back the bottle. She then takes one of the pills dry, tucking the container away back in her pocket and wringing the edge of her coat idly. 

“Why is it so  _ loud _ in here?” The two look out the office’s door, hearing arguing down the hallway.

“It’s not loud, you just need your coat lined with something more heavy.”

“It doesn’t work like that. It needs to cover my  _ head _ .” Ocelot and Mantis walk by, their conversation echoing throughout the dark halls.

Wolf points a confused look at Liquid, frowning slightly.

“He needs to wear tin foil on his head or he can hear everyone thinking.”

“Bullshit.” She looks back out the window and thinks for a moment, “Did you meet the other two yet?”

“Very briefly. Mantis told me Octopus is a  _ skin-walker _ .”

The two frown at the thought and Wolf turns back to the door, sighing deeply, “I think I’m going to retire for the night.” She exits without a word, leaving her commander to stew in silence. Liquid spins his office chair around to watch the snow start to fall, catching a wolf dart across the deep snow with a rabbit in its mouth. Blood spots across white down and both predator and prey vanish behind another building.

“Boss.”

He turns to the door, watching Ocelot enter the room and shut the door behind him quietly.

“I haven’t had the chance to talk to you after arriving on base.”

Liquid doesn’t answer, eyes darting to the floor and then back out the window.

“Your Russian contact called me last night, he’s having the Hind-D delivered, quote, ‘as soon as possible’.”

“Knowing him, he’s trying to find the oldest model available.”

Ocelot smirks, “one can only hope the delay is due to spite.”

A quiet settles in the room and Liquid looks up for a moment before looking back outside, “you don’t have to call me Boss.”

He wrings his hands idly, “Force of habit, I guess.” 

Another cold silence.

“Are you okay?” Ocelot shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets.

“Do you remember when I overdosed?”

_ He’s unresponsive and barely conscious, eyes rolling around in his head. Someone screams for a medic. Blondie is playing quiety in the other room but nobody will turn the damn radio off. _

“You kept saying someone was trying to kill you, if I remember correctly.”

_ Small, pale hands start grabbing at Ocelot’s shirt and Eli turns away to vomit, puke getting all over both their boots. A doctor tries help to stand him up and reveals a fresh bruise on the kid’s right cheek.  _

“I kept seeing her. She was like that picture you had in your office.”

_ The medic and Eli have an angry back and forth but he’s so out of it that it barely lasts. Kaz is screaming across the med bay and automatically starts shifting blame on anyone but himself. Ocelot spits the phrase “spoiled child” at him and the two become a hair away from a fist fight. _

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

_ V rushes onto the scene and breaks up the fight between both men, pointing at the medic attending to Eli with a mechanical finger. Ocelot takes a step back and glances at Kaz’s cane and then back to Eli, noticing the dark purple welt was long and rectangular.  _

“EVA. I kept hallucinating EVA. She had that ruby red evening gown on- with the sequins.” 

“She’ll talk to you if you call her.”

Liquid shakes his head, “No, I was thinking about- Nevermind. Forget I said anything.” 

_ Another doctor finally gets everything under control and after pressing everyone involved, Kaz finally admitted it was _ his  _ valium. V scowls but doesn’t say anything, as per usual, and Ocelot bites his tongue. A tiny nurse breaks the unbearable silence, mentioning that it’s not easy to lethally overdose on benzodiazepines. That Eli should be able to sleep it off within twenty four hours. Ocelot’s relieved but doesn’t break the intense look he’s giving Kaz, a million thoughts running through his head about, how, it was  _ his _ idea to keep  _ children _ on the base to begin with.  _

_ An hour passes, the radio’s finally shut up and the yellow sick is finally cleaned off the floor and Ocelot’s shoes. Everyone’s left the room but him and and he sits beside Eli’s bed vigilantly. At this time in his life, after all this, Ocelot’s used to sitting quietly in a hospital room, machines beeping rhythmically.  _

_ He wasn’t sure if God was tangible that night, but he knew the devil was, for sure, a blonde. _


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually put notes at the end of my works but, if you haven't listened to the post-credits phone call for TPP, I would recommend doing so now or holding back on this chapter until you you want to. https://youtu.be/mdoLTggOeJw

“I want you to flank the house from the front. I’ll go in through the side door.”

Liquid eyes his handgun over a few times and then looks up at his mentor. The two were squatting in the wood outside of Kazuhira Miller’s home, breath smoking up into the night sky. “Are you sure there’s only four guards?” he says this nervously, eyes darting to his gun and then back to Ocelot before he pulls up his long, wheat-colored hair in a tight pony tail.

“I’m sure as I can be.”

“And you think we can do this? Just the two of this?”

Ocelot furrowed his brow, “Don’t back out on this.”

The snow crunched under Eli’s feet as he stood up and readied his gun, the red laser darting off the ground as he steadied it, “Alright then.” 

What happened next was a fit of screaming, a barrage of gunshots, kicked in doors shattering around locked door handles, and dragging Miller by the shirt collar down a flight of stairs, throwing him into his living room. Hot blood from a bodyguard snaked to his ear and pooled around the lobe as Liquid kept a firm knee on the merc’s chest, calling out to Ocelot, “I have him!”

He walks coolly into the room from the kitchen, blood splatter on the side of his long, tan coat, “That you do.”

Miller struggles to catch his breath, squirming underneath Liquid’s weight, “You bastard.” He makes an angry eye contact with Ocelot but it’s concealed between his skewed sunglasses, “I have a daughter now you sick  _ fuck _ .”

“I’m aware.” Ocelot sits in arm chair facing the two, holstering one of his revolvers in the process, “But you knew this day would come and you should have known better to  _ taunt me _ by aiding in the Boss's murder.”

“Is  **that** what this was about?”

“ _ Is  _ **_that_ ** _ what this is about _ ?” Eli mocks him in a high-pitched voice, pistol whipping Miller in the process.

Ocelot sits on the edge of his seat, popping out the gun’s cylinder to double check his bullet count, “You could say that.” He leans back and rests his elbow on the arm of the recliner, cheek in palm, “Boss, why don’t you show our guest that party trick you’ve been working on?”

He glances to Ocelot and then back to the man he’s sitting on top of, plucking off his captive’s sunglasses and putting them on slowly with a slow, evil smile. There’s a pause as the gears start to turn in Kazuhira’s head, the twoing making a fierce eye contact. 

“Miller,” Ocelot eyes the two of them without any clear emotion, “What was it you told me back in the ‘80’s?”

Liquid’s face immediately turns dark, the smile vanishing. He looks surprised, but angry, “Nine years ago, I thought everything had been taken from me. But now I really  _ have _ lost it all. The Boss,  _ and _ the future we were building together.”

Ocelot watches both of them intently, reading their body language and expressions. He responds to Liquid flatly, “One day, the age of Big Boss’s sons will arrive. They’ll likely want to settle the score with him. We have to shape that age. We’ll each have roles to play, building the foundation for a revolution led by both Big Bosses -  the true one,  _ and _ the phantom...”

Liquid shakes his head and furrows his brow, still directly looking at Miller, “No… Big Boss can  _ go to hell _ .” He repeats this with a little more anger, but it’s still flawless.

Miller goes to look at Ocelot but he’s stopped by Liquid, clutching his face between thumb and fingers, turning his head so the two face one another again. They lock eyes, even though tinted plastic. He’s beyond shocked, his heart beating up into his throat. This had to be a nightmare,  _ right _ ?  _ Surely _ ? Miller tried to stay grounded through the anxiety, focusing on lowering his heart rate,  but it was too much. His tongue felt huge and numb, making it impossible to muster a response to this  _ performance piece  _ being played out on top of him. 

The interrogator smiles slightly at the scene unfolding in front of him, “You know… Sooner or later there will be only one Boss. There’s only room for  _ one _ Boss. His sons are fated to face each other someday too. If the day ever comes that you go back to Cipher, I’ll aid the other son.” A leer swipes across Ocelot’s face, “And then you and I will be enemies too... One of us will have to kill the other.”

Liquid grins, face so close to his captive they can feel each other's breath, “fine by  _ me _ .”

Miller, the actual Kazuhira Miller, is shaking- quivering underneath his captor. He’s looking into the void and only sees himself staring back at this point. And Ocelot? In that chair beside a dead body? He can tell and he laughs just-  _ laughs _ . He eventually calms himself and looks back at the revolver he’s holding, “Do you know how many shots I have left in my chamber, Kaz?”

He struggles to answer, Liquid slowly lifting the sunglasses with his free hand. Blue eyes meeting milky white. “Why don’t you show him, Ocelot?”

Two remaining shots echoed through the house, blood splattering all over the floor and Liquid. He looks over to Ocelot, utterly surprised, “Well.”

Ocelot stands up slowly and reloads his weapon. “That settles that, then. You better get off him before he pisses himself.” He looks over at the bodyguard to his right, as he holsters the revolver, “I can already smell  _ this  _ one.”

Liquid stands up and straightens his coat, tucking the sunglasses into his pocket, “How did you know that would work on him so well?”

He looks over his shoulder, “Aren’t you afraid of  _ your _ self?”

“I never thought about that.”

The two make a brief eye contact with one another, Ocelot studying the gore on Liquid’s face, “you should be.”

He pauses, “What do you mean?”

Ocelot hovers a bloody hand on the back door, making a firm eye contact, “Eli, you should be afraid of yourself.” 

The two linger at the back door for a moment before heading back out into the cold, unforgiving winter night.


End file.
